


The Spirit of Hogwarts

by teprometo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, First Time, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Mental Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-09
Updated: 2009-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teprometo/pseuds/teprometo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy has always wanted to be great. When he becomes entangled with a legend, he must choose between sanity and madness, between what's safe and what he craves.</p><p>"Wildly my mind beats against you, yet the soul obeys."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spirit of Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thilia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thilia/gifts).



> Written for [thilia](http://thilia.livejournal.com)'s [Phantom of the Opera](http://community.livejournal.com/bottom_draco/513678.html?thread=2123150#t2123150) prompt at [bottom_draco](http://bottom-draco.livejournal.com)'s [Fairy Tale Fest](http://community.livejournal.com/bottom_draco/585254.html).
> 
> There is a minor Blaise/Draco relationship and background Hermione/Ron, but neither is important enough to be tagged.

**Prologue**

Draco Malfoy had always wanted to be great. Since he was a small boy, his father had taught him that respect was the most important thing a person could have and that it had to be earned. Sure, Draco had a leg up on the competition based on his genetic predisposition as a pureblooded Malfoy-Black, but he had learned early that it was his responsibility to prove that he both deserved and lived up to his heritage.

Discipline. That was what his father had taught him. Strength and silence were important, as well. Lucius Malfoy, known for his perfectly calculated silence, had often told Draco that many great men had fallen because they spoke too rashly. Draco was to look to the Dark Lord for inspiration. After all, his father would whisper while Draco snuggled in beneath his arm, the Dark Lord had once been a Hogwarts student, too. _Right under Dumbledore’s crooked nose_ , he’d say with pride.

Dumbledore, Draco thought, must have known about these secret jibes. After Draco’s fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Lucius Malfoy was killed by Albus Dumbledore, and Draco lost his ability to use magic.

***

Severus Snape stormed into the classroom, dark cloak billowing about him dramatically. He glared at the Gryffindor half of the class and said, “I trust you have wasted an adequate amount of your time over Christmas holiday, so please do not waste any of mine.”

The Gryffindors stared hard at Snape, but quieted down.

Snape returned their glare as he went about his lecture. “We’ll be starting this term with a particularly essential defence charm. It is also one of the most challenging spells you will learn at Hogwarts.”

“And Malfoy thought Wingardium Leviosa was a stumper,” Ron Weasley snickered, turning his head around to look at Draco.

Draco felt his face stiffen, but did not otherwise react to Weasley’s taunt.

“Twenty-five points from Gryffindor,” Snape said, somehow becoming even more stern, “for speaking out of turn.”

Draco would have been thankful for Snape’s intervention, but he knew the Gryffindors would punish him for it later. He figured Snape knew this as well and that could have been half the reason he had interfered. Since his father’s death, Snape had not been a friend to Draco. Whether it was the loss of the alliance or his magic, Draco did not know, but Snape no longer paid him any mind.

“Who here has cast a successful Patronus Charm?”

Everyone in the class looked around at each other and seemed temporarily reassured when no one raised a hand. Draco felt a slow smile spread over his face as he raised his hand into the air. He saw Weasley open his mouth to say something, but Neville Longbottom elbowed him in the ribs and Weasley stayed silent.

Snape did not seem surprised, but rather bored with the revelation. “Excellent, Mr Malfoy,” he drawled. “What form does your Patronus take?”

For the first time in a long time, Draco felt the flush of a blush as heat burned his cheeks. “A lion, sir.”

At this everyone in the class turned to stare. Again, Snape showed no interest in the new information about Draco, instead asking, “Would you care to demonstrate for the class?”

Draco nodded once, stood up, and took out his wand. He took just a moment to steady his hand as he conjured a memory strong enough to produce a full Patronus. He thought of being a small boy hanging by his feet from his father’s hands. His father swung him about, threatening to sweep the floor with Draco’s hair. Draco had loved this game and giggled madly even as his mother looked on worriedly. _“Expecto Patronum.”_ A silvery-white light emitted from his wand, taking the form of a large lion, which prowled over to Weasley and let out a low, rumbling growl.

Weasley scooted back in his chair as everyone gazed at the lion, then at Draco, and finally at Snape.

“Thank you for the demonstration, Mr Malfoy.” Then, addressing the class, “This is a perfectly formed Patronus Charm,” he said reluctantly. “By the time you graduate from Hogwarts, if you practise, you should be able to produce a full body Patronus, though it will likely be less solid than this one. Some of you, however,” Snape shot a pointed glance again at the Gryffindors, “will be lucky to conjure even a wisp of a Patronus, as this particular charm takes a great deal of concentration and discipline. Qualities that some people simply cannot attain.”

Draco smirked in self-satisfaction, finally having had a chance to prove to his classmates that he was no Squib. He had steadily regained his ability to use magic over Christmas at Hogwarts. His secret tutor not only helped to restore Draco’s power, but also enhanced his abilities, making Draco into a much more powerful wizard than he had been before.

The rest of the class was dedicated to conjuring Patronus Charms. Two or three students, including Weasley, were able to get out a stable jet of light, but most were still unable produce any kind of Patronus by the end of the period.

Draco took his time packing up his books at the end of class intending to avoid being hassled in the hallway. Draco knew what he was worth to people these days. He was the son of a Death Eater and until today was practically a Squib in the eyes of his classmates. The Gryffindors hated him for his ties to the Dark Lord and the Slytherins hated him for his weakness. Draco would never resort to consorting with Hufflepuffs; the Ravenclaws had taken no stance on him, becoming his most likely allies, but even they treated him with mere indifference. Still, indifference was preferable to antagonism, so he took what he could get.

Soon it was only Draco, Snape and Blaise Zabini left in the classroom. Draco glared at Zabini, once one of his closest friends, only to realise with surprise that Zabini seemed to be approaching.

“Draco!” Zabini said as if they were close friends who hadn’t seen each other in a few days, “Long time no talk. How have you been?”

Draco was unsure how to respond. He decided sceptical impatience was the best route. “I think you know, Zabini.”

The light expression dropped from Zabini’s face. Even a scowling Zabini was obnoxiously handsome, Draco noted. “Listen, Draco, I know I’ve been a right prat this year. I am truly sorry, for what it’s worth.”

Zabini left empty space Draco figured he should be filling with sentences, but all he could say was that the apology was worth nothing and Zabini already knew that, so what was the use in speaking? Draco decided there was no reason for him to stick around any longer. As he turned to leave, Zabini spoke again.

“When did you learn to cast a Patronus? I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but, well, how about this ...” Draco faced Zabini again. “I’m going to be practicing some spells tonight in the dungeon, the room just to the right of the Salazar Slytherin sculpture. I’d love it if you would come practise with me, maybe catch up. But I’ll understand if you don’t come.”

He certainly seemed sincere. Draco knew that Zabini was only talking to him again because he could use magic, and use it well, at that. Still, he wasn’t going to turn down a chance at regaining his status within Slytherin House. “I might show up,” Draco said. “Merlin knows you need to work on that Patronus. I may be able to show you a few things.”

Zabini smiled then and Draco remembered all the good times they had shared before he lost his magic. As he walked out of the room, he thought about how much his strange tutor had taught him, and hoped he would be pleased that Draco might be making friends again.

***

Out of habit, Draco went to the library after his classes. Over time he had developed a good routine for avoiding conflict. He’d spent so much time in the library that he should have been the top of his class; he was there more often than even that Ravenclaw Granger.

Draco grabbed a few choice tomes from the shelves, but found he wasn’t quite as good at blocking out his thoughts as usual. More and more, lately, his mind had been paralysed by thoughts of his masked tutor, Harry. Draco didn’t think the name fit him very well. “Harry” was too common, too mousy. “Harry” belonged to a middle-aged Muggle in the junk business. Draco thought that something like Ophiuchus would have been a better fit. And why did he wear that mask, anyway? What could he be hiding?

Draco felt his face grow hot again, remembering how his Patronus had taken the form of a lion and explaining to Harry how that was the way he saw him. Strong and deadly. And beautiful. Draco had left out that last one when explaining it to Harry.

Draco had known he was attracted to men for a while now. He and Zabini had flirted quite a bit towards the end of their fifth year at Hogwarts, but when Draco lost his power over summer holiday their romantic potential was destroyed. Draco wondered if Zabini was interested in picking up where they had left off. He was still angry, of course, but Blaise was still handsome.

He decided that he would meet with Blaise that night. Even if there was no possibility for romance with him, Draco was willing to give the friendship a chance, hopefully rebuilding his circle. Draco wasn’t sure what time Blaise was going to be there, so he decided to head down to the dungeon around 6 p.m. Draco had stopped having meals in the Great Hall quite a long time ago, instead going straight to the kitchen, so he forgot that Blaise was likely having his evening meal.

Draco wound his way through the castle using hidden pathways and shortcuts that he was sure only he and maybe those Weasley twins knew about. He made it to the Salazar Slytherin statue without any trouble. Checking over his shoulder, he walked into the empty classroom. He thought it looked like an Arithmancy classroom, what with all the number charts lining the walls.

Draco hadn’t been in the classroom for a minute when he heard the door close behind him. He turned expecting to see Blaise, but instead came face-to-face with Harry. As always, Harry wore thick, luxurious black robes and an elegant satiny black mask covering his forehead and the area around his eyes. Intensified by the mask, Harry’s eyes were bright green and clear and painfully intimidating. Draco often found himself looking at Harry’s mouth instead of his eyes.

“Your Patronus was gorgeous today,” Harry said, not bothering with a greeting. “All the other students were jealous of you.”

Draco faltered, taken aback by the sultry quality of Harry’s voice. “Only because you’ve helped me,” he said finally. “Their jaws almost detached completely when I told them my Patronus took the form of a lion. They must think I have a thing for Gryffindors.”

Harry’s lips quirked just a bit as he stepped closer to Draco, close enough that they could touch if they reached for one another. “I saw.”

Draco stomach began to fill with unease when he realised what it meant that Harry had seen his Patronus. “You were watching me?”

Harry’s face was impassive. “Of course. It was the first day of class,” he said, as if that explained everything. “I had to see your big debut.”

“Right,” Draco said, still worried about the implication of Harry’s words.

“Before you cast the Patronus, when you said it took form as a lion,” Harry paused, looking thoughtful, “I saw you blush. Are you ashamed?”

“Ashamed?” Draco asked, confused. “No! No, of course not. I was afraid they’d figure something out.” He paused. “You’re my secret and I like it that way.”

“And you’re mine, Draco.” The possession in Harry’s voice sounded thick and Draco felt a flutter in his chest at being claimed so blatantly. “You were waiting for that Slytherin boy here. Would you like me to go so you can ... practise spells, was it?”

Draco felt the accusation of Harry’s words and was filled with guilt. Of course it would seem like a betrayal to Harry, who had taught Draco so much, that Draco wanted to do magic with someone else.

“I would rather do magic with you, if you don’t mind,” Draco said.

Harry’s smile was unreadable. His voice was even and calm when he spoke, but Draco could sense the anger in his words. “That child suddenly takes interest in you because you cast a brilliant Patronus Charm and you’re going to just give him a pass on the way he treated you for months?”

Draco recoiled from the sting of those words, unsure of what to say. He knew Harry was right. “I ....”

“You were less than a Muggle to him, to all of them, and here you are now waiting around for him to come and make you feel like a real wizard again.”

“I’m sorry!” Draco shouted, skin tingling from the magical presence of Harry’s sudden outburst. “You don’t know how bad it’s been. I’ve spent months hiding from the people who were once my friends, cowering like a Hufflepuff, living in fear of Gryffindors, for Merlin’s sake!”

“I don’t know what it’s been like, you say?” Harry shouted, his face lit with anger. “I’ve been here through all of it. I’ve seen it!”

“But you don’t know how it was before,” Draco pleaded. “They worshiped me. I was their leader. I was a _Malfoy_ , for Merlin’s sake, not that you could know what that means. Not that it means much anymore. Not since Dumbledore killed my father.”

Harry’s expression turned from anger to concern. “You never told me who murdered your father, Draco.”

“What does it matter? Dumbledore can do as he pleases, especially with Death Eaters like my father.” Draco’s chest ached with the memory of his father, the knowledge that there would be no justice for him. “Everyone will rally behind the old nutter because they’re afraid. Of the Dark Lord and his followers, and of Dumbledore, too.”

Harry didn’t speak. He seemed very far away, and Draco imagined a crease forming between his eyebrows behind the mask. Then, quite suddenly, he smiled and said, “I’m sorry, Draco. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you.”

Draco felt a calm pass over him. “It’s all right, Harry. I shouldn’t have agreed to meet with Blaise. You’re right. He should have to earn back my friendship. It’s just ... you don’t know how lonely it’s been.”

Harry was soft then, almost sad. “How could you ever be lonely when you have me?”

Draco hurt to see the insecurity evident on Harry’s face. “You’re not always here,” he said, hoping it would convince Harry that he was important, that Draco did value him.

“I’m here more than you think,” Harry said, and Draco wasn’t sure whether to feel comforted or uncomfortable. He didn’t like the idea of being spied on, but it was nice to know that he had someone looking out for him.

As if sensing Draco’s conflict, Harry said, “Let’s not think about that anymore.” He held out a hand to Draco. “Come with me? I want to show you something.”

Draco took Harry’s hand and shivered at the spark of raw power he felt there. All thoughts of invasion of privacy were gone. Draco nearly groaned with surprise and pleasure when he realised Harry had offered him his wand hand.

Draco found himself travelling a series of hidden tunnels that he had never seen before and he now understood how Harry was able to travel the castle without being spotted. He lost track of how many twists and turns they’d made, resigning himself to being led by Harry, whose hand was still firmly grasped in his own.

When they finally stopped, Draco stood in front of a large tapestry depicting a group of trolls who appeared to be attempting ballet. He shot Harry a glance that was meant to signify that he didn’t understand.

Harry smiled and pointed at the opposite wall. “This is the Room of Requirement. What you need, anything you need, will be behind this door.”

The next logical question, of course, was, “What door?”

“You only need to pace back and forth in front of the wall here and the door will appear.”

Instead of commencing the pacing, he looked at Harry and asked, “What about what you need?”

“You are what I need.”

Draco nearly fainted from the intensity of that statement and, to his extreme horror, felt his cock begin to swell. He hoped Harry didn’t notice. The last thing he wanted was to scare away his only friend with his uncontrollable hormones and pooftery.

Attempting to suppress his erection, he began pacing and, sure enough, a door appeared. He walked with purpose directly into the room ahead, finding a large bed made up in red and gold waiting for them. His heart dropped into his stomach upon seeing it and immediately he knew he was blushing furiously.

“I’m sorry. I don’t - I must need rest,” Draco spluttered, completely caught off guard by the ornate display, by the level of attention to detail the room held. The red and gold Gryffindor theme came as a surprise, but he realised it was exactly what he wanted, because he knew that if Harry had been a Hogwarts student he would have been sorted as a lion.

He was afraid to look at Harry’s face, but when he did, he didn’t see the look of repulsion he was expecting, not that he could see much of any expression with that mask in the way. Harry reached out and touched Draco’s cheek, cradled it, and Draco felt himself moving in towards Harry.

“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me it’s a mistake and this room will become a place we can practise more spells. Tell me not to touch you.” Harry’s voice was gruff with restraint and his body was all tension, rigid and ready to pounce.

Draco was nervous. He didn’t know what to think about the man in the mask. Harry was fascinating, enthralling, but he was dangerous. Draco didn’t know what would come of this moment, but his skin screamed at him, needing to be touched by Harry. Draco moved in closer, pressed his body flush with Harry’s, looked into his eyes, pulled Harry’s hands to his waist and said, “I want you to touch me.”

Harry moved a hand back to Draco’s face, leaned in and kissed his forehead. Draco closed his eyes and felt Harry’s nose brushing over his skin, across his forehead and down his cheek, along the line of his jaw. Harry placed a light kiss on the point of Draco’s chin and leaned his forehead against Draco’s. “Is this what you want?” he asked, voice low and strained.

Draco opened his eyes and moved his hands to the back of Harry’s neck. He considered the question for a moment, the intense longing within him becoming all the answer he needed. “Yes, this is all I want.” It hurt to look at Harry’s eyes that close so he looked down at his mouth, full pink lips opened slightly, inviting him. Draco closed his eyes again, pressed his mouth to Harry’s, and felt Harry pressing back.

Everything in him focused directly on his lips, how Harry was kissing them and how good it felt to have Harry’s hands buried in the back of his robes, in his hair. Draco knew he was shaking and it didn’t matter because Harry was holding him and he was safe and his lips had parted ever so slightly and so had Harry’s and they were kissing and there was no denying it and it was heartbreaking and it was perfect.

Harry tasted like power and sunshine and he was pushing Draco backwards towards the bed and there was nowhere else Draco wanted to be. Pressed down on the mattress with 64 kilograms of Harry on top of him, the raw pulse of magic drummed on his skin, tingling his insides and filling his mind with light. Harry’s mouth had become attached to his neck and the way his lips and teeth and tongue moved convinced Draco that he had never needed anything as much as he needed this.

Draco’s hands wound firmly in Harry’s hair and he couldn’t help it, he just had to see what Harry had kept hidden all this time. Swiftly, he moved his fingers to the edges of Harry’s mask and pulled it from his face. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was how beautiful Harry was underneath.

***

Draco had not seen Harry in a month. He waited in their usual meeting spots every day, travelled the hidden corridors Harry had shown him, and still there was no sign of Harry. Draco felt queasy and anxious, wondering if Harry would ever return. He was torn between guilt and anger, unsure whom to blame for what had happened between them. More than anything the loneliness was devouring him, and though he desperately wanted to find Harry, he concluded that he would not be found until he wanted to be. Instead of searching for Harry, Draco concentrated on rebuilding his status as head of Slytherin.

It hadn’t been difficult. He cursed a few of his former minions—Crabbe, Goyle, Bulstrode—and had Blaise eating out his arsehole. Figuratively speaking, of course. For now, at least. It seemed standing up Blaise was exactly what he’d needed to do to get the other boy in a frenzy; he was now willing to do anything to please Draco. Starting with this small support group, it only took him a few days to get back to where he had been at the end of fifth year.

But he still wasn’t happy.

Every night in his bed he thought about Harry, about what he’d learned that night and how it had affected their relationship.

Harry Potter. Of course he’d seen the legendary scar. What did that mean, anyway? He was a fairy tale now: The Great Harry Potter, the baby who destroyed the Dark Lord, the man hiding, biding his time until Voldemort’s return, waiting to finish the job. Harry Potter was dangerous. He had been kept hidden from the world for 15 years for one purpose alone: to kill. And what now? He was a 16-year-old boy, just like Draco. What was so scary about that?

Draco knew what was scary about that. He had sensed the danger in Harry long before he knew who he was. But he could have killed Draco a thousand times or more and he hadn’t. No one would have missed him, the suddenly-Squib son of a Death Eater. But Harry had helped him, had given him magic again.

And he was beautiful. Draco reached under the sheets and grasped his erection, remembering the night he’d had Harry Potter’s lips on him. Draco had felt at least twelve kinds of delicious pinned beneath him, Harry’s mouth kissing and biting away all of Draco’s reservations on whether or not this thing between them was a good idea.

And, God, that power. Draco could feel it tingling in his skin still, the way Harry’s hands had felt in his hair, dragging down his waist. Harry Potter was serious magic, intoxicating and deadly. He was unstable and likely insane from the isolation, but those eyes, green as the killing curse. It seemed fitting. Draco thought of those eyes as he tugged on his cock one last time, whispering Harry’s name and thinking that Harry Potter would certainly be the death of him as his come coated his hand and belly. As he drifted off to sleep, Draco swore he felt fingertips ghosting over his naked torso and imagined how beautiful his death would be.

***

Another month passed and Draco was living as if the first term of sixth year had never happened. He and Blaise were even starting a romantic relationship, much to the disappointment of just about everyone else at school, each of whom had eyes on one of the two of them.

Sitting at the Three Broomsticks, Draco knew everyone was shooting glances at him and Blaise, of envy or longing or anger. They were lovely together; he knew it and so did everyone else. Blaise was dark, Draco quite fair, and both of them were very pretty. It was a shame that neither would be passing on those genes.

Draco thought of how disappointed his father would have been if he’d known that Draco would be the last of the Malfoy line. Apparently this thought showed on his face, because Blaise asked him what was wrong.

“Oh, nothing,” Draco said, waving a hand through the air. “Just thinking.”

“Well, that is a problem,” Blaise laughed, resting a hand on Draco’s thigh.

Draco felt a sudden surge of magical energy that got his cock’s attention. He looked at Blaise, astonished at the power present in his touch. He hadn’t felt anything like it since Harry had touched him. Harry. The sudden reminder made him jerk away from Blaise.

Blaise leaned toward Draco, whispering, “What’s wrong, Draco? I can tell you like it. You know, we can take this to the next level any time you’re up for it.” Blaise reached over, squeezed Draco’s unconcealably erect prick for emphasis, and kissed him deeply there in the middle of the pub.

Draco let out a whimper and the next thing he knew, Blaise was standing and speaking venom at a third year Hufflepuff who had poured her Butterbeer all over him.

“I’m so sorry!” she pleaded. “I don’t know what happened. The mug just flew out of my hand and poured itself on you. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

“How convenient. I’ve never known a hot beverage to take on a life of its own before,” Blaise spat.

Draco stood and put a hand on Blaise’s shoulder, hoping to calm him a bit. “Blaise, I’m sure it was an accident.”

“It was a mistake, is what it was,” Blaise hissed through gritted teeth.

“Blaise, let’s just go back to the castle so you can change your robes,” Draco said, and Blaise stormed out of the pub. Draco turned to the girl, “Sorry about that.” He handed her a galleon, telling her to buy a round for her and her friends.

She gaped at him for a moment before remembering to thank him.

Draco left the pub and strolled through Hogsmeade for a while, trying to sort out what had happened in his mind. He’d felt a flare of magic when Blaise had touched his leg, but he was certain now that it hadn’t been Blaise’s magic. Harry had been there watching, had gotten angry when Blaise touched Draco, and had spelled that poor girl’s drink to break up the kiss.

Draco was angry with Harry. What right did he have? He had abandoned Draco, left him for months, and then when Draco tried to build a life for himself, Harry intervened. It was wrong and selfish of him. But Draco couldn’t help the fluttering feeling in his belly at knowing that Harry was still there watching him. That he still wanted him. He must. Why else would he stop Blaise from getting too close?

Draco hadn’t gone to the second floor girls’ bathroom in months, but he found himself heading there today. Things had changed in the pub. Harry had given away his presence to Draco, and Draco thought he might come back to the place they met. Draco wasn’t even sure of that anymore. He was beginning to get the feeling that Harry had been watching him for years, maybe even since he first came to Hogwarts.

It made sense. There had been many times in his stay at Hogwarts when Draco had felt like he wasn’t alone. He’d always managed to convince himself that it was just an old castle full of ghosts and paintings and who knew what else to keep a person company even when there was no one around. Whenever he had been upset about something he’d always felt a soothing hand on his back or in his hair. He had assumed it was part of the castle’s magic. After all, there were homesick children everywhere. He never saw anyone there and it reminded him so much of his mother that he’d never paid much attention. Now he was sure that it had been Harry the whole time.

After Draco had missed the Snitch in his first Quidditch game he’d gone to bed angry, frustrated tears wetting his face. Draco remembered the fear he had felt at the prospect of telling his father that he’d lost the Snitch to the Hufflepuff Seeker. He’d felt the presence then, the soothing hand rubbing circles on his back lulling him to sleep.

Something thick filled his chest then. What 11-year-old boy was mature enough to silently comfort another child? Draco was suddenly filled with pity and remorse for having considered himself lonely. He’d had loving parents, even if they were strict and not necessarily aligned with the light. He’d had a happy childhood with presents and friends and warmth. What did Harry have? A cold stone castle? A sacred duty? A mask?

Draco felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around, pressing his face into Harry’s shoulder and holding on tight before he could disappear again. “I’ve missed you so much,” he choked out.

Harry removed himself from Draco’s embrace, his face stern. Anger radiated from him as he said, “It didn’t look that way to me.”

Draco recoiled from the painful bursts of magic rolling off Harry. “You abandoned me!” Draco cried. “I waited for you here every day for weeks. I tried to find you! You knocked me unconscious and you left me. I searched for you and you were gone. What was I supposed to do, Harry?”

“What is it you like about him, Draco?” Harry seethed. “Is it his skin? His pure blood? His demeanour? His cock?”

“Harry, stop it!” Draco yelled, pulling his hands up to cover his ears, trying to block Harry out. “You know I know nothing about his cock. I’m sure you’ve been watching me this whole time, just eating up how much I’ve needed you while you’ve been gone. I’m sure it made you feel powerful.”

Harry’s magic lashed out, knocking Draco to the floor. He walked over and looked down on Draco, his mouth curled down, his lips so tight they were hardly there. “I don’t need you to feel powerful.” All the taps in the room turned on suddenly and the water erupted towards the ceiling, suspended there. Harry crouched down over Draco, his face inches away, and spat, “I _am_ powerful.”

Draco swallowed his fear, swallowed the tears that were threatening to spill. He pushed Harry away from him and stood up, clenching his fists. “What do I like about him?” he asked evenly. “He’s here. He’s with me, he shows interest in me, he doesn’t hide himself from me. I know Blaise. I don’t know you, Potter.”

Draco made his way to the door, needing to get away from Harry, from his mad jealousy and from his unstable power.

“Draco, please.”

Draco turned around and saw Harry sitting on the floor in a puddle, all the water that had been spelled into the air having fallen in a mess around him. Harry was soaked, his head hanging in a way that made him look like he was crying. Draco couldn’t leave him like that, not after all the times he had been comforted by Harry as a child.

Draco approached Harry slowly, sat down beside him in the small pond that was forming on the bathroom floor and put an arm around his shoulder. “It’s all right, Harry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry rested his head on Draco’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I lose control.” He looked up at Draco, “Please know I would never hurt you. Never. You’re the whole world to me.”

Draco felt ill. He looked at the ceiling, avoiding the intensity of Harry’s gaze and the implication of his words, the obsession they betrayed. “I know,” he said. “Take your mask off.”

“What?” Harry stiffened, the tender moment gone.

Draco looked at him again and pulled his arm back. “I want you to take it off. I know who you are. I haven’t said anything to anyone. I don’t want you to hide from me anymore.”

“It’s too dangerous. If someone came in here ... if someone saw ....” Harry shook his head and stood up. “It’s out of the question, Draco. You should never have seen my face in the first place. It’s not something that can ever happen again.”

Draco stood, too, “Then you have no right to be angry with me for my involvement with Blaise.” He instantly regretted saying Blaise’s name again when he felt Harry’s magic begin to boil. Draco reached over and put a hand on Harry’s cheek. “Harry, I’ve told you what I want. I want you.”

Harry swatted down Draco’s hand, “You have me.”

“I want all of you.”

Harry sighed heavily and shook his head, “I’ve told you already; it’s too dangerous.”

“Let’s go back to that room, then, Harry,” Draco pleaded. “Let’s go back and pretend it’s that night again and that it doesn’t matter if I see your face. We can pretend these months didn’t happen and you can touch me again.”

“Draco, listen to yourself,” Harry sighed. “You’re not making any sense. I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you. I should just leave you alone.”

Draco felt himself start to shake at the suggestion of being abandoned again. He launched himself at Harry, holding on tight. “No! Please, don’t leave again. I can’t do it again, Harry. I need you.”

Harry snaked his arms around Draco’s waist and hissed, “God, I need you, too.” Harry attacked Draco’s lips, forcing his tongue between them and searching Draco’s mouth for something, reassurance maybe.

Draco wound his fingers in Harry’s hair, returning his kiss. Breathy moans were escaping him as Harry’s magic caressed his body, his hands sneaking up the back of Draco’s shirt. Draco lost himself in the warm bubble of power spilling out from Harry and moved his hands to untuck Harry’s shirt from his trousers.

Suddenly, Harry pushed him away. “Not here, Draco.”

“Then let’s go elsewhere.”

Harry nodded and grabbed Draco’s hand, leading him through another series of hidden corridors. Soon they stood in front of the empty wall across from the odd troll tapestry, but this time it was Harry who paced before the wall. The door appeared again and Harry held it open for Draco.

Instead of the bed he expected or a cosy sofa in front of a fireplace, the room held two uncomfortable-looking straight-backed chairs and a Pensieve. Draco looked at Harry; he was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes clenched shut.

“I’m sorry to do this, Draco, but I have to,” he said simply, looking up. “The Ministry of Magic doesn’t even know where I am. It’s only Dumbledore .... And now you.”

Draco took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief, unable to wrap his mind around what Harry wanted to do. Harry was threatening to force Draco to surrender his memories, to steal his thoughts. “But, I haven’t said anything. I won’t!”

“I can’t take your word. I’m sorry.” Harry just looked tired. “I must insist on taking your memories.”

“No,” Draco said, shaking his head firmly and crossing his arms over his chest.

“No? Draco, I’m stronger than you are. I will take them by force if I have to.”

“Not like this,” Draco clarified. “I’ll give you my memories, but you don’t need that device. If you take off your mask, I’ll let you access my memories directly.”

“Draco, what do you mean?” Harry asked, clearly surprised by the turn of events.

“I mean, take that mask off and I’ll open my mind to you.”

Harry stiffened visibly. “But Legilimency is so much more invasive than using the Pensieve. I’ll be able to see your thoughts, your impulses. Your fantasies.”

Draco looked Harry in the eye then. “I have nothing to hide from you. If you stop hiding from me, I’ll give you what you want. And you’ll see that I have no intention of even a whisper of this to anyone.”

“Why do you want to see it so badly?”

“’It?’” Draco asked. “What do you mean?”

“The scar,” Harry sighed. “Why do you want to see it? It’s ugly.”

“Harry, I don’t give a newt’s arse about the scar,” Draco said. “I want to see your face. Because it’s beautiful.”

Harry shook his head, but moved his hands to the mask and gently pulled it away from his face. Almost lovingly, he rested the mask on a simple dark wooden end table that had appeared beside him. Draco’s heart ached at the way he handled the mask, as if it were a lover.

Draco drank in the sight of Harry’s face, storing and cataloguing all of his features the way he hadn’t been able to the first time he’d seen it. Harry’s eyes were even more stunning with the appearance of eyebrows, cheekbones, temples, forehead. Draco thought it would be a shame if people focused only on the scar, because there were so many intricate details of his face to map and adore. But what were the chances of anyone else ever seeing this face? He suddenly felt even more awed at the experience. Even more sad.

Harry wasn’t looking him in the eye. It was as if Harry’s entire persona of strength and confidence lived inside the mask, and with it gone, he was small and scared and insecure. Draco put a hand on Harry’s cheek, urging him to return his gaze. Harry looked up and seemed to pull himself together, standing up straighter and schooling his features to a visage of stern concentration.

Harry moved a hand up to touch the one Draco had placed on his face and Draco assumed he would remove it, but instead he placed his hand on top of Draco’s, caressing it with his thumb. Harry’s other hand came to cradle Draco’s face and Draco closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. He felt Harry’s other hand move to his face as well and opened his eyes.

Harry was standing closer now, only a few inches away. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Draco nodded and fixed his eyes on Harry’s. He felt Harry enter his mind and fought the impulse to use Occlumency the way his father had taught him. Nothing was too sacred for Harry, it seemed. He had seen immediately that Draco had not said anything about him to anyone and that he had no intention of it, but he continued deeper into his mind.

Draco was shaking, the feeling of Harry inside him entirely overpowering. His presence was everywhere, filling Draco’s head with sunshine and opening him up further. Harry went through everything, through Draco’s memories of him, the moments of fear and the overwhelming pull he felt, the desire.

But Harry wasn’t only interested in himself. Surprised, disturbed, Draco realised that Harry was running through every memory Draco had regarding Dumbledore, from the private comments of his family to Draco’s first day at Hogwarts to the killing of his father.

Still, the feeling was so intimate, the mental synchronicity, the way Harry’s hands felt cradling his cheeks, the room around them was shifting every moment, conforming itself to fit every deep-seated urge being unleashed by the probing of his mind. Draco was aware of this only because he knew what he needed right then. So Potter was raping his mind, who cared? All Draco recognised was what it meant to be filled by Harry Potter.

When Harry had sucked in all the knowledge he could from Draco’s mind, emptying Draco into himself, he finally broke the connection, looking away from Draco and pulling back his hands as though Draco were made of Skrewt droppings.

“Harry,” Draco whimpered, reaching out for him.

“Draco, I—” Harry stopped what would likely have been an apology when Draco took his hand and pressed it against the erection straining against his trousers.

Draco let out a moan when Harry’s hand touched him, and another when he didn’t pull it away. The hand rested there, trembling, as if asking for permission to move.

Harry’s tongue darted out to moisten his lips and Draco watched, transfixed by the simple action. Draco pulled Harry closer, trapping his mouth in a kiss that made Harry’s hand squeeze around Draco’s aching prick.

Draco groaned as Harry’s tongue found his own, massaging his mouth, turning him to the consistency of marmalade. Draco’s knees buckled beneath him, but Harry caught him and led them to the large bed that appeared behind them. Harry deposited Draco on the bed gently and Draco scooted up to the top, lying splayed out on his back, breathing heavily, watching as Harry crawled above him.

Harry was crouched on all fours over Draco, his knees pressing into Draco’s sensitive inner thighs, his hands curled up into fists on either side of Draco’s head. There was a war written on Harry’s face. His eyes spoke volumes of desire but his mouth was tight with restraint, just as his arms were trembling violently.

Draco wound his arms around Harry’s shoulders and raised himself up, pressing his mouth to Harry’s, coaxing him to relax and give himself over to the moment. All at once, Harry groaned and snaked his hands up behind Draco’s shoulders, crushing them both awkwardly as Harry’s knees slipped down and lined his hips up with Draco’s flat against the mattress.

Draco cried out in surprise and Harry wasted no more time with self-control. He plundered Draco’s mouth voraciously, sucking Draco’s lower lip so hard Draco was sure it would be bruised for days. Harry freed his hands from behind Draco and yanked open his robes. Harry moved his mouth over to Draco’s ear and Draco nearly passed out at the heat of Harry’s breath, his low panting sending shivers down Draco’s spine. Harry untucked Draco’s shirt from his trousers and deftly did away with the buttons while Draco removed his own tie and sat up to let Harry slide the garments from his shoulders. Only Draco’s undershirt remained. Harry tore it off of him and pushed Draco back down onto the bed.

Draco reached for the fastenings on Harry’s robes, but his hands were swatted away as Harry leaned in and pressed his nose to Draco’s neck, swiping his tongue along the collarbone. Draco twisted about, letting out all kinds of embarrassing noises as Harry’s mouth moved down his bare abdomen.

Draco lurched when Harry’s nose tickled along the fine hairs leading down to the waist of his trousers, his face growing hot at the unstoppable wiggling of his own hips, a desperate attempt at friction for his aching cock.

Harry raised his head from the waistline of Draco’s trousers and looked up. The sight of Harry down by his cock, gazing up at him with those eyes nearly made him come right then. Harry must have taken Draco’s reaction as permission to continue, because he tentatively unfastened Draco’s trousers and pulled them down to his knees, Draco wiggling his hips free from the garment.

Harry pressed his nose to the swell of Draco’s pants and ran his face along Draco’s length. Draco was positively writhing under Harry, having lost complete control of his body’s reactions. Slowly, Harry lowered Draco’s pants, freeing his painful, reddened erection.

After one last glance up at Draco, Harry closed his eyes and wrapped his lips around Draco’s prick. Draco struggled to watch the decadent sight before him but soon had to close his eyes, letting his head fall back onto the pillow, willing himself to last just a little bit longer. Harry’s mouth was hot and soft and so much better than anything he’d ever felt before. Draco desperately wanted to wind his fingers in Harry’s hair, but restrained himself, fisting the bedding instead.

One of Harry’s hands wrapped firmly around Draco’s prick, following the wet heat of his mouth up and down, eliciting whimpers and groans from Draco. The other hand ran up across Draco’s abdomen, circling a nipple before two fingers found their way into Draco’s mouth. Draco suckled on those fingers, pushing his tongue between them as Harry mimicked his oral ministrations on his cock.

After a few minutes of deliriousness, Draco couldn’t handle the slick, velvety pull of Harry’s mouth any longer. “I—” was all he could get out before he came, biting down on Harry’s fingers and finally reaching into that hair of his. Draco clenched and loosened his hands in Harry’s hair throughout his orgasm, savouring the sensation of soft lips and coarse hair and the way Harry’s free thumb caressed his face.

Harry released Draco’s cock from his mouth and rested his head gently on his thigh. Draco let go of Harry’s fingers, giving them one last swipe with his tongue and kissing the tips before they trailed a wet line down his neck, stopping to rest on his chest.

They lay like that for a while, Draco savouring the steadying of his breathing, the light puffs of air brushing across his softened cock, and the feel of Harry’s hair between his fingers. Too soon, Harry pulled himself away from Draco and stood, straightening his robes. Draco’s face heated when he realised he was mostly undressed while Harry didn’t have a single button undone.

Draco tucked himself back into his pants and sat upright, leaving his trousers around his knees. He reached for Harry, who sidestepped the attempt, saying instead, “You should get dressed.” Harry raised his hand and Summoned his mask from its resting place on the small table. He put the mask in place and turned away from Draco.

Draco didn’t understand what was going on. One minute Harry was nuzzling his thigh and the next he was barking orders. “Don’t you want me to—” Draco started, unsure how to finish the sentence. “I mean, I want to ... return the favour.” Draco felt embarrassed as soon as he said it, which was strange because he’d just had his cock shoved halfway down Harry’s throat, but it was still a mildly humiliating moment for him.

Harry acted as though he hadn’t heard Draco speak at all, instead saying, “Zabini will be missing you.” Harry turned to face Draco again and exuded stiffness, stern and impatient-looking. Draco ignored the painful contracting sensation in his chest, instead focusing on fastening his trousers and buttoning his shirt correctly with trembling fingers he hoped Harry didn’t notice.

He made a show of looking for his tie, digging through the bedding while secretly watching Harry, whose features had softened since Draco changed his focus. Harry just seemed sad now, full of longing somehow. Draco carefully put on his tie and robes and turned to Harry, whose features stiffened as quickly as they’d melted.

Draco thought better of reaching out to touch Harry, knowing he’d only be swatted away again. Instead, he gave a curt nod and headed for the door, not looking back as he pushed through it. Just as the door closed behind him, Draco was sure he’d heard something shatter within the room.

***

Harry was avoiding Draco again. Draco didn’t think he could handle any more of their volatile relationship. Ever since they’d touched the first time, everything had changed. Harry was constantly opening and closing, like jasmine, letting Draco see him and then hardening again.

Draco found himself flirting with Blaise just to see if Harry would appear again, lash out at him and then beg for forgiveness, unfurling like a delicate flower. That was what Draco was doing now in Charms class, pressing his thigh against Blaise’s and feeling the surge of magic he knew was all Harry. He knew it was hopelessly stupid of him, that he should just accept that Harry was unstable and impossible to reason with, but he needed him. Draco craved Harry and felt wrong when he couldn’t sense him.

The class was learning a new charm meant to illuminate hidden objects. If done correctly, this charm casts a blue glow around anything in the area that has been magically concealed.

Professor Flitwick had ten objects under concealment charms scattered about the room. Draco had concealed four of them himself. Granger had done the other six, of course. The students took turns casting the charm and received marks based on how many objects lit up.

Patil had gotten seven, as had Blaise, but the other students hadn’t done as well, some getting only two. Flitwick gave words of encouragement, telling them it was their first try, and they’d do better next time. It seemed he was saving his big guns for the end, as Draco and Granger were the only two who hadn’t had a turn yet.

Draco got all ten objects during his turn, which made Flitwick jump up and down with excitement. “Excellent work, Mr Malfoy!” he chirped. “Next up, Ms Granger,” he said as he rearranged the hidden items

Granger stood up and lifted her wand, smiled a bit and called out, _“Esconda Illumina!”_ Suddenly ten blue lights sprung up out of seemingly nowhere. An eleventh light, this one green, sprouted just in front Flitwick’s forehead.

Flitwick was so ecstatic he seemed likely to burst. “Perfect, Ms Granger! Top marks!”

Granger smiled with self-satisfaction and took her seat.

“Ms Granger has demonstrated another aspect of this charm. Not only does it show hidden objects, but hidden thoughts as well. I was guarding a memory of my grandfather’s pet Kneazle, and Ms Granger’s spell was strong enough to sense that. Really excellent, Ms Granger,” Flitwick beamed. “It takes an extraordinary magical skill to perfect the spell to that degree. And on the first try!”

Draco was furious. He sneered at her when she glanced his way and felt a little better when she quickly lowered her head. “That was not her first try,” Draco whispered to Blaise, who nodded his head in agreement. “Little Mudblood always has to upstage me.”

Blaise put a comforting hand on Draco’s thigh and Draco felt the spark of Harry’s magic again. This time he just felt shame at having been bested by a Mudblood in front of Harry. “If she had gone first,” he spat, “I would have gotten the green light, too.” More than one, he thought.

When class ended, he and Blaise walked to the Great Hall for supper together. Draco was happy, conspiring with his friends about how to best humiliate Granger before a large audience. Every Slytherin felt for Draco and agreed that it was a crime and an outrage that Granger out-spelled everyone.

“I’m sure she’s entirely on the up-and-up,” Pansy said haughtily. “Mudbloods are always just so powerful naturally ....”

The Slytherins had a theory that Hermione Granger was really a dark witch, calling on forbidden powers to give her an edge over the other students. Whether or not anyone actually believed this, Draco wasn’t sure. They needed it to feel justified in their Pureblood bigotry. Draco knew it was ironic that they condemned Granger for dipping into dark magic when they all came from backgrounds rich with darkness and all but idolised the darkest wizard of them all.

But as hypocritical as they were, they were his friends and they supported him. Draco was grateful for this even though he knew Granger was only better than he was because she worked harder than he did. When had he gained the ability to recognise strengths in others? Especially Mudbloods. He knew now what it was like being at the bottom of the heap, even though he hid it well.

Draco was pulled out of his thoughts by a scream from the Ravenclaw table. Chang was squealing and putting up a fit and Draco scowled at her until he saw the reason. Hermione Granger had fallen onto the floor and was twitching about, clawing at her throat as though she couldn’t breathe.

Professor McGonagall moved like lightning, at Granger’s side in an instant. She cast a Levicorpus and all but ran out of the room with Granger, presumably to the hospital wing. Draco stared at the door for a while, wondering what had happened as all the Slytherins whispered and giggled about how she’d gotten what was coming to her.

Draco scanned the head table and realised Dumbledore had disappeared as well. Draco excused himself from the table, saying he had to fetch a few books from the dormitory before a night of studying at the library. That earned him some strange looks, but no one said anything about it. Blaise asked if Draco wanted some company, but Draco declined, telling Blaise to finish eating and that he’d meet him in the common room when he was through studying.

Draco was disturbed by Granger’s sudden outburst and for some reason felt compelled to follow her to the hospital wing. He made it just to the edge of the corridor when he heard harsh whispers. He carefully peeked down the hallway to see Dumbledore and Harry in a kind of holding pattern, both looking fiercely alert and ready to strike.

Draco knew he should walk away and leave them to their business, but he had to listen, to see why they were putting their secret in danger. 15 years of careful hiding and now they were arguing just outside the door to the infirmary. Draco stayed out of sight and listened, hoping to figure out what had happened.

“Your obsession with this boy has gotten out of control, Harry,” Dumbledore seemed to be pleading. “You’re sacrificing your identity, our mission, everything, to help Mr Malfoy succeed. And you’re hurting people.”

Harry laughed and said, “You made me to be a killer, Dumbledore. Since I could talk my whole life has revolved around becoming as powerful and—and as lethal as I could be.”

“I’ve made mistakes, Harry, and I’m sorry, but the world needs you. Only you can defeat Lord Voldemort,” Dumbledore said, and Draco could tell he’d given this speech before. “But you do not have a license to kill, Harry.”

Draco could feel the swell of anger in Harry’s magic from where he stood. “And what about you? What gave you the right to murder Lucius Malfoy?”

Draco slapped his hand over his mouth to keep from making a sound. The corridor was uncomfortably silent for a while until Dumbledore finally spoke. “I don’t have to justify myself to you, Mr Potter. You were out of line in poisoning that girl. If you do something like this again—” but Dumbledore never finished his threat.

Draco peeked again and felt suddenly dizzy at what he saw. Dumbledore was suspended about a metre above ground, dangling like a kitten from its mother’s mouth. Harry stood with his arms crossed in front of him, his eyes on Dumbledore.

“I will not be taking orders from you. I will not be hearing threats from you. You wanted me to be strong, stronger than you were, and I am,” Harry articulated before lowering Dumbledore.

“Harry—” Dumbledore said, rubbing his throat.

“That’s enough,” Harry barked. “If you do anything to hurt Draco Malfoy again, you will have me to answer to.”

Harry turned to leave and Draco ran in the other direction, not sure of where he was heading. Getting caught eavesdropping on such a volatile conversation was not likely to be a good thing, especially since one party had killed his father and the other had tried to kill his classmate.

Draco found himself bookless in the library, unable to go back to the Slytherin dormitory because he’d told his friends he’d be in the library and unable to get any work done because he had no supplies. He didn’t think he’d have been likely to get work done anyway with his thoughts as singularly focused as they were.

Draco no longer felt safe. He was afraid for himself, afraid for his friends and especially afraid for Blaise. Now he knew that Harry was capable of murder and all of his worries about Harry’s stability had been confirmed. Harry was mad, completely unable to see the world as anything but Draco-centric. He had threatened Albus Dumbledore, of all people, and had actually scared him.

Draco couldn’t be comfortable anymore, knowing that Harry was lurking in every dark corner and behind every portrait. Nothing was off limits to Harry. He was everywhere and he was unstoppable. For the first time Draco was terrified of being alone in a room, knowing that Harry would be there watching him, or worse, off hurting people in some horribly misguided attempt to help.

Draco never went to empty classrooms anymore and only visited the bathroom during periods of high traffic. He was always with someone, suddenly a social butterfly. He and Blaise had gotten closer and he thought they had something real. It wasn’t passionate and dangerous the way Harry was, and that was exactly what he needed.

“It’s nice to see you not being so jumpy all the time, love,” Blaise said, idly running his fingers through Draco’s hair. Draco’s head was resting in his lap as they sat in the Slytherin common room.

Draco looked up at Blaise and smiled. It was nearly the end of sixth year and he hadn’t seen Harry at all since the incident with Dumbledore. “I guess I’ve gotten over it, whatever it was.”

“No, it makes sense,” Blaise nodded. “First with your father and then with the magic and the way you were treated. You’re bound to be followed by that for a while. I’m just glad you’re better.” Blaise smiled and leaned down to kiss Draco.

Draco sat up to position himself better, giving himself over to Blaise’s full, soft lips. Harry was still watching. He knew it every time he and Blaise kissed. Harry’s magic would scream at him, but Draco ignored it, trying to prove that he had moved on with his life.

But every time Blaise tried to push things to the next level, Draco would back off. Draco could handle a healthy dose of snogging with some light petting, but he couldn’t push past that. Part of him, he knew, was still tied to Harry, to the intensity in his touch that Blaise had no hope of rivalling.

Blaise moved to fist Draco’s cock and again Draco pulled away. “I’m sorry, I’ve just remembered that I’m late for a study date.”

Blaise sucked in a deep breath and nodded. He stood and reached for Draco’s hand and said, “I’ll walk you.”

Draco took Blaise’s hand and stood, leaning in to kiss him lightly. They didn’t have far to go, but Blaise had become accustomed to accompanying Draco everywhere. Blaise left Draco at the door to the Arithmancy classroom beside the Salazar Slytherin statue.

“Good luck. If they try anything ....” Blaise trailed off.

“I’ll be fine. They’re very real people. You’d like them,” Draco insisted for what felt like the hundredth time, still grateful that Blaise understood when most of Slytherin did not.

“Maybe I’ll join you someday,” Blaise said, smiling, and Draco knew he never would.

Draco kissed Blaise one last time and entered the classroom, barely casting a protection spell in time to miss the hex that had been hurled at him.

“Good reflexes,” Hermione said with a smile.

“Thankfully. I don’t fancy being covered in irreversible boils for the next week,” Draco said.

“The only way to get a real reaction is to use a really nasty spell.”

“I know,” Draco smiled. “Well done.”

 _“Petrificus Totalus!”_ sounded from the corner of the room.

 _“Protego!”_ Draco responded, warding off his second hex in under a minute.

“Glad you could join us, mate,” Ron said, walking from the corner more towards the centre of the room where Draco and Hermione stood.

“Sorry I’m late. Got a bit caught up,” Draco muttered, slightly embarrassed, knowing what they would assume, and knowing they’d be mostly right.

Hermione shot him a wicked grin. “Well, Ron and I managed to tear ourselves apart in time to make it here promptly.”

Draco looked at Ron and laughed at the redness in his ears. Hermione laughed, too, and eventually Ron joined in.

And this is what they did. Every other night the three of them got together to chat and practise spells. Their friendship was strange and completely unexpected, but it was the most genuine relationship Draco had ever known.

It all started when Draco went to visit Hermione in the hospital wing after she had been poisoned. He wasn’t sure why he had gone, knowing he wouldn’t be welcome there. But he felt responsible for her condition and felt it was the least he could do to visit and see how she was feeling.

The potion Harry had used was designed to be especially painful, and while Madam Pomfrey was able to keep it from being fatal, she could not stop the pain. When Draco entered the room, Hermione was curled up in her bed, panting lightly and covered with a sheen of sweat. Draco had instantly been repulsed by the sight, but steeled himself to go say hello, even though she didn’t look like she was in any shape for visitors.

Madam Pomfrey seemed more than surprised to see him there, but didn’t say anything. Draco sat down in the chair at Hermione’s bedside and simply said, “Hello.”

Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him, eyebrows raised in what must have been confusion. Draco felt utterly stupid sitting there next to a girl he’d never spoken with suffering in her hospital bed and was getting ready to make a swift exit when she did the strangest thing. She laughed.

She laughed so hard she cried, though Draco wasn’t sure whether it was really from the laughter or the pain or a combination of the two. Draco couldn’t help but join in, as he’d always been affected by the infectiousness of laughter. The two of them sat there laughing at the absurdity of the situation for minutes before they finally quieted down and Madam Pomfrey asked him to leave, saying Hermione needed her rest.

Draco stood to leave when Hermione laboured to speak. “Will you come back?” she asked, and it seemed like a sincere request. Draco smiled and nodded, reaching out to squeeze her hand. He left and spent the rest of the day wondering why on earth he had touched a Mudblood, all filthy and sweaty and bushy-haired.

But it didn’t stop him. He visited her every day, telling her what they were working on in their classes, bragging about how well he was doing now that she was ill. Somehow, inexplicably, they had become close friends even though some days Hermione was in too much pain to say much of anything. She seemed to appreciate having him there, though, and he was always curious as to why no one else ever came to visit her.

Towards the end of Hermione’s stay in the hospital wing, Ron Weasley came in on a serious Quidditch injury that would keep him out of classes for a week. Ron and Hermione were the only occupants, so whenever Draco and the Red Brigade weren’t visiting, they had only each other to talk to.

At first, Ron pretended to be sleeping when Draco came. Draco would always glance over at him and make some kind of silly gesture completely unbecoming of a Malfoy to make Hermione laugh. After a couple days, though, Ron finally woke up and joined the conversation, which was apparently more interesting than trying to remain perfectly still.

Ron took a bit longer to talk to Draco, usually addressing Hermione, even when he was responding to something Draco had said, but by the end of his stay, he seemed to have grudgingly come to like Draco. Draco understood his problem. A year ago he would have had to lower himself to hurl taunts at people like Ron and Hermione. Somewhere along the line he had changed and it scared him. He wasn’t always comfortable with their friendship and neither were they, but they tried, and so did he.

On Ron’s last day in hospital, Hermione seemed to be feeling much better. The pain was almost gone and she was a few days from being released herself. As Ron got ready to leave, Hermione offered to practise charms with them when she got out. Ron smiled and said he could definitely use some help. Draco said he’d help Ron as well and Ron and Hermione laughed. But once Hermione had been released, the three of them got together to work on spells and kept it up.

Draco was standing up to retire from their most recent meeting when Hermione spoke. “Draco, we’ve been friends for a while now, and I trust you,” she said. “But I need to ask you something.”

“All right,” Draco responded, a bit unnerved by the seriousness of her tone.

Hermione sighed and looked away from him. Speaking to her feet, she asked, “Did you poison me?”

“What?” Draco shouted in sincere surprise.

“Well, it makes sense,” she said from her place next to Ron on the floor. “You hated me. I always managed to do slightly better than you on everything. You were a Malfoy and I was a Muggle born. Or, I guess we still are those things.”

“You’re right,” Draco admitted. “I did hate you, quite a lot.”

“But I wouldn’t have really thought it was you if you hadn’t come to visit me,” Hermione said, the confusion clear on her face.

“I didn’t poison you,” Draco stated.

“Then why did you come?” she asked, and Ron perked his head up, wanting to know as well.

Draco sighed and figured it was time to be honest. “Because I know who did poison you. And I can’t tell you, because that’s an insane promise that I will never break. But I did blame myself, in a way. He only did it because he thought it would help me.” It felt good to say it aloud.

Hermione sighed heavily. “Thank you for telling me,” she said. “And, even if you had poisoned me, I wouldn’t have faulted you for it. I mean, not now anyway. I know that you’re a good person. The fact that you came to see me at all is all the proof I need of that.”

Ron nodded emphatically. “That’s no lie. I almost pissed myself when I saw you there talking to ‘Mione. I mean, I didn’t know her or anything, but I knew she was Muggle born and I was pretty sure you were still a Malfoy, so I was certain you were trying to finish her off. But you had changed.”

Draco sat down again, his legs curled under him, his head resting in his hands. “You’d have changed, too, if you had been where I was. You put me in hospital a few times yourself, if I remember correctly.”

Ron’s face scrunched up a bit. “Sorry about that, mate. I was a right prat.”

“No, I deserved it,” Draco conceded. “I was spoilt and arrogant and hateful. I needed to know what it felt like to be on the other end.”

“Draco ...” Ron hesitated. “I know that it was your father’s death that made you lose your magic. But you’ve never told us how you got it back.”

Draco closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, wondering how much he could tell them without betraying Harry. “Someone ... helped me.”

“Who?” Hermione asked, capturing Draco’s hand with hers, apparently sensing that Draco was uncomfortable.

Draco looked at her apologetically. “I can’t tell you that.”

Hermione nodded in understanding. “Same one who poisoned me, then.” It wasn’t a question.

“He’s a very powerful wizard,” Draco continued. “He helped me see the magic in myself again, to move past grief and fear and harness the power I had within me.” Draco stopped, remembering the first time Harry had helped him cast a spell again, how he had felt when it began to flow again. He smiled. “I have a great deal to thank him for. He saved me. He worked with me tirelessly, pushed me to succeed. He believed in me.”

“Wow,” Hermione said. “Sounds—sensual.”

Draco nodded. “Oh, how right you are, Hermione.”

“He loved you, didn’t he?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Draco shook his head. “He was obsessed, certainly. But I wanted him and he never let me close to him. I couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t let me in, and then he started going after my friends.”

“Your friends?” Ron asked.

“All right, my rivals,” Draco conceded. “But I never thought he’d actually hurt anyone.”

“He was willing to do anything for you. Romantic, except for the part where he almost killed me,” Hermione laughed.

“I never wanted that, though,” Draco stood again and started pacing. “He had given me this beautiful gift and I just wanted to touch him, you know? Really touch him. But he was mad. Jealous and angry. He followed me everywhere, watching me when I couldn’t see him.”

“I take it this isn’t a student, then,” Ron concluded.

“No. Not a student.”

Hermione stood as well and stopped Draco in his tracks, putting her hands on his shoulders. “He was unfair to you. He held his power over your head.”

“But I needed him so desperately I could hardly breathe at night,” Draco admitted.

“And how do you feel now?” Hermione asked, taking over for Ron who remained on the floor looking only a bit uncomfortable with the conversation.

Draco thought about it for a while, closed his eyes and tried to sense it. He opened his eyes again and smiled. “I feel him,” he whispered. “He’s here, right now, watching us, and even after everything, I think it still makes me feel safe.”

“Does Blaise know?” Ron finally stood and joined the conversation.

Draco shook his head in reply. “I know,” Draco said. “If I’m serious about Blaise I need to tell him something.”

Hermione pulled Draco in for a hug and it was the first time he had been embraced as a friend. It was uncomfortable at first, but then quite comforting. They stood like that for a while until Hermione finally let him go.

“There, now,” she said. “You’d better get to bed.”

“All right, mum” he joked, but he decided to take her advice. He had a lot to think about and his bed was usually where all the thinking took place.

Draco made the short walk to his dormitory alone, picked up his toiletries and headed off to the bathroom, also unaccompanied. Blaise had made a good point earlier: Draco was much less jumpy. He discovered that he felt all right walking by himself now, no longer terrified that Harry would jump out from behind a corner and draw him in again. Not that Harry was much of a jumper anyway.

Draco used the toilet, brushed his teeth and headed back to his dormitory. Back in the common room he ran into Blaise, who seemed keen on picking up where they had left off earlier. Draco explained that he was feeling rather worn out from the magic practise and excused himself to his dormitory. It was only 9:00, but Draco was happy to have the privacy with the others still milling about elsewhere.

He climbed into bed and pulled the curtains closed, spelling them shut as had been his habit all year. He nestled in under the covers, rolled over to the other side of the bed and ran into something solid and warm.

Draco screamed and Summoned his wand. “Lumos!” He looked over and saw nothing at first, but slowly black robes became visible, followed by a masked face. “Harry,” Draco breathed, barely able to get out a whisper.

Harry was stretched out on one half of Draco’s bed, his hands folded behind his head. He waved his hand and Draco knew it was mostly for his benefit. The small area they occupied was illuminated then and Draco cast a Finite on his Lumos.

“What did you just do?” Draco croaked.

“Illumination spell, silencing spell and a better locking spell,” Harry said conversationally, as if his display of off-the-cuff wandless magic were nothing, as if his sudden reappearance after months of absence were nothing. As if his presence in Draco’s bed, of all places, were nothing.

“Why are you here?” Draco asked, both curious and terrified of his unexpected visitor.

“To open up,” Harry said. “Would you like me to remove the mask now?”

“What?” Draco was hopelessly confused. “All right, I guess.”

Harry reached up and took off the mask, casting it down towards his feet, treating it like an old banana peel meant to be discarded.

Draco sat up and looked at Harry, looked at his face and his bright, clear eyes. “Why now?” he asked. “You’ve been gone for ages. Why did you come back now?”

Harry smiled like a minx. “Heard you talking about me,” he said, dripping with arrogance that didn’t seem right on him.

“Harry, what’s wrong with you?” Draco asked, concerned. He had never seen Harry behave this way, flirty and carefree. It worried him.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Harry asked. “Someone who can be fun and happy and show you a good time?”

Draco shook his head and nearly laughed. So this was Harry’s impersonation of Blaise. “Harry, I don’t want you to be someone else. Stop it. Be yourself.”

Harry moved his arms to fold them across his body. “I don’t know how to satisfy you, Draco. You say you want me and then you run after him,” Harry said, eliciting a scoff from Draco. “You want to be the best but become upset when I try to take care of the competition. I give you space and you never come back to me.” Harry struggled through the last sentence, and Draco could see how much it hurt him to say.

Draco lay down again, resting his head next to Harry’s and draping his arm across his body. “Harry, you scare me,” he said, fully honest with him for the first time. “I’m afraid of what you’ll do. I’m afraid you’ll hurt someone I care about or even someone I abhor.”

“I thought you wanted to be great,” Harry said. “Death and greatness go hand-in-hand.”

Draco leaned up on his elbow and looked down on Harry, forcing him to look back. “Not always,” he said. “What Dumbledore taught you, that your calling is to kill, it isn’t right. You’re meant to defeat the Dark Lord—”

“Death,” Harry said pointedly.

“Not necessarily,” Draco insisted. “And even if you do kill him, it is one man, hardly a man, and your life is worth more than that. You mean more than that.”

“I don’t,” Harry nearly shouted. “The only reason I’m here is so that I can save the world by stopping one person. I’m here to be powerful while I have to and to disappear once I’ve met the task.”

“Stop it!” Draco yelled. “This is what I hate about you. Your single-minded view of the world and your need to be right all the time, to be in control. Listen to me,” he said, reaching his free hand up to touch Harry’s face. “You mean something to me. Something real. And I think you’re impossibly difficult, you terrify me, your view on the world is completely wrong, you don’t know how to interact with other people. But I need you, Harry.”

Harry’s mouth had turned to a deep frown, but he pulled Draco in until Draco’s head was buried in his neck. Harry’s arms wound around Draco and held him tight. Draco breathed in Harry’s scent and whispered, “When you’re not around, I feel all wrong. And I can’t imagine you being gone forever.”

Harry kissed Draco’s forehead. “I’m sorry, Draco. I want to be good for you. I want to be here and—and I want to be yours. I don’t want to scare you anymore, and I don’t want to push you away,” he nearly whimpered. “I need help.”

Draco picked his head up and looked Harry in the eye again. He wiped away the few tears that had spilled and said, “I’m here for you. I’ll help you.” And with that he leaned in and kissed Harry and the past few months disappeared. Draco could no longer remember a moment when he hadn’t been touching Harry.

They kissed for what felt like hours, touching and sensing each other, becoming reacquainted. Draco reached to unfasten Harry’s robes and once again felt his hands being pushed away. “Harry,” Draco whispered between kisses on Harry’s earlobe, “let me help you.”

Harry sighed a hesitant “all right” and Draco slowly removed Harry’s clothing. Layer by layer, he reassured his lover with soft kisses and touches, asking if he wanted this, and getting his answer in Harry’s soft moaning and the sensual twisting of his body. Harry helped Draco out of his clothing and eventually they were both entirely exposed to one another, equals for once.

Draco pressed his hand to Harry’s stiffness, experimented with the feel of another man’s cock. It felt heavy and delicious. Draco kissed and licked his way down Harry’s abdomen and asked, “Can I?”

Harry nodded and Draco hesitantly moved his mouth over the slippery head of Harry’s prick. It was salty and obtrusive, but not unpleasant. He pulled more of it into his mouth and then pulled back, repeating this motion until he got a feel for it. His left hand curled around Harry’s hip while his right gently cupped Harry’s balls, rolling them in time with his mouth’s journey up and down his prick.

Harry’s hands were buried in his hair and he was making the most delicious whimpering noises, thrusting ever so slightly into Draco’s mouth. Draco moved his hand from Harry’s sac to the shaft of his cock, following his mouth up and down on it. He was embarrassed by the slurping sounds he was making with every upward pull, but Harry didn’t seem to mind, so he kept it up.

Draco experimented with taking Harry’s length farther into his mouth on each downward motion, gagging at times, but never tiring of it. He loved the way Harry’s hands fisted his hair, the trembling of his hips and the noises he made.

Draco was just getting better at pulling Harry’s cock far enough into his mouth to contract his throat muscles around it when Harry spoke. “God, Draco,” he choked out, “I’m about to—”

Harry never finished the sentence, probably too embarrassed to actually say the word. Draco simply smiled around Harry’s prick and after two more pulls, Harry emptied himself into Draco’s mouth, nearly growling his orgasm. Draco decided as he was swallowing Harry’s semen that it tasted weakly like mushrooms, almost flavourless, but mildly pleasant.

When Harry was spent, Draco pulled his mouth away, resting his head on Harry’s thigh, their position a perfect mirror of their last sexual encounter. Only this time, no one would be running away after.

After their breathing had steadied and Draco’s erection had almost subsided, Harry pulled Draco up and kissed him with a passion that rivalled their first kiss. Draco had no hope of flaccidity any longer. Harry had pushed him onto his back and was kissing him in just the right way and in all the right places. Draco was whimpering and he didn’t care, because the way Harry’s tongue flicked at his nipples, first one, then the other, then back again, was so unbelievably delicious.

When Harry moved down to take Draco into his mouth, Draco stopped him. Harry looked up, confused. Draco pulled Harry back up and pulled his body down flush against his, Harry’s reawakened arousal resting alongside his own. Harry smiled a bit and thrust his hips a few times as if testing the feeling of their pricks rubbing alongside each other. “God,” Draco moaned. That felt good, but it wasn’t what he wanted, so he stilled Harry.

“Harry,” he said, looking into Harry’s eyes and trying to steady his voice. “I want you.”

Harry smiled, kissed Draco and whispered, “You have me.”

Draco smiled back. “I mean. Inside me. I want you to ....”

Harry looked completely surprised then. “Why? Are you sure?”

Draco nodded. “I want you to know. You’re all I see. I need you.”

“All right,” Harry said. “I’ll try to be ... I mean, is this your first ....”

“Yes!” Draco cried. “I’ve never done any of this before. With anyone. I’ve never wanted to. Not really. I mean, I’ve snogged other people before, but I’d never let anyone else ....”

Harry nodded. “Me, too.” He paused. “Can you help me with this?” he asked, suddenly looking very unsure. “I don’t really know what to do.”

“Yeah,” Draco smiled, “I’ll help you.”

Draco explained that they would need a lubricant of some kind and that he would need to be prepared for penetration. Harry looked so hopelessly adorable as Draco explained this, blushing every time Draco said “penis” or “arsehole” or even “finger.”

Harry was suddenly holding a tube of lubricant and Draco looked at him questioningly. Harry shook his head and said, “I know a lot about magic. If I need something, I can get it somehow.” Draco laughed at him, feeling more at ease than he had since he was a small child, which was ironic, since one of the most powerful and dangerous wizards in the world was about to prepare his virgin arsehole for anal intercourse.

Harry squeezed a liberal amount of lubricant onto his fingers and, blushing, inserted one digit into Draco. It seemed to go in easily, so Harry inserted a second, to which Draco let out a sharp hiss. “Sorry!” Harry said, concerned, but Draco shook his head and said it was fine; he just needed to get used to it.

Harry pumped two fingers in and out of Draco, scissoring the way Draco had told him to, until Draco said he thought he was ready for the third. The third finger was painful, too, but soon Draco felt ready.

“This is going to hurt more than the fingers did,” Draco explained to Harry. “But I want to get past the pain. I want to do this.”

Harry nodded and removed his fingers from Draco’s arsehole, squeezing more lubricant onto his hand and coating his cock liberally with it. “Ready?” he asked, and Draco nodded.

Harry tried to position his cock at Draco’s entrance, but the way they were positioned, with Draco’s knees bent slightly and his feet flat against the mattress, made penetration seem unlikely. “I, erm ...” Harry started, “I’m going to need your legs back.” Draco nodded and pulled his legs up towards him, exposing himself further to Harry.

Harry pulled Draco’s legs up and hooked them around his shoulders, then positioned himself, beginning to push in slowly. Draco screwed his eyes shut, willing himself to relax, to allow Harry to enter him.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Yeah,” Draco huffed. “Just get past that point and I don’t think it will hurt as much anymore.”

Harry took that to mean “get through quickly” and forced himself about halfway in. Draco cried out in pain, but reached his hand out to keep Harry from pulling back.

“Just give me a minute,” he said, trying to relax and to remember that this was what he needed to happen right now. It took a moment, but Draco finally opened his eyes and said, “Okay. Keep going.”

Harry moved slowly, trying to help Draco accommodate his length little by little rather than doing too much at once, which Draco appreciated. When Harry was sheathed completely he stayed very still, his arms shaking from holding himself up.

“Come here,” Draco said, pulling Harry down so that he was resting on top of him. “You can move now.”

Harry pulled out a bit and took in a sharp breath. “God,” he said, “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Draco let out a soft chuckle and lay back as Harry took control, pulling partway out and rocking back in slowly. After a little while, the pain had subsided a bit and was starting to be replaced by an altogether different sensation. Soon Draco was meeting Harry’s gentle thrusts, coaxing Harry to move just a little bit faster. His erection, which had died away during the painful parts, had come back full force, brought to life by the not entirely unpleasant feeling of Harry moving within him and the delicious effect the friction from their moving bodies had had on his cock.

“Harry,” Draco whispered, growing to love the way he felt inside him.

“So good,” Harry said, kissing Draco.

Soon Harry was pulling out farther and thrusting in harder and Draco invited him back in wantonly every time. Harry’s accuracy had gotten good, hitting Draco’s prostate more times than not, sending little sparks of pleasure throughout his body. But the most overwhelming sensation for Draco was Harry’s magic, erratic and crackling, coating his body with sharp tingles of lightning, pulling Draco closer and closer to the edge.

They were a sweaty mess, thrusting and writhing and calling out to every deity they knew. Draco felt Harry’s magic cresting and lost it, crying out his lover’s name and coating their bellies with his come. His orgasm seemed heightened and prolonged by Harry’s magic, which burst around him a moment later as Harry came, grunting and thrusting feebly, emptying himself into Draco.

When Harry was spent, he pulled out of Draco gently and moved to his side. Draco winced as he lowered his legs, which had cramped. Harry laughed at him and Draco asked what was wrong.

“You’re making a funny face.”

“It’s all ... coming out,” Draco said.

“That probably is a bit uncomfortable,” Harry agreed.

Suddenly Draco felt dry and clean again, and muttered, “Magic is great,” cuddling up to Harry. But Harry had gone stiff. “What’s wrong?” Draco asked.

“I should go,” Harry said, Summoning his clothing and pulling on his pants.

Draco sat up. “You’re not seriously doing this again, are you?”

Harry looked at him, losing a bit of the stern edge that had taken him over again. “Doing what?”

“Fuck me and then leave me,” Draco spat. “Is that what I’m worth to you?”

“What?” Harry cried out. “How could you say that?”

“Look at you! We’ve just barely finished and here you are getting dressed to leave. When will I even see you again? Next year?”

Harry pulled his pants back off and lay down again. “I’m sorry, Draco. I thought you’d want me to go.”

“How thick are you?” Draco leaned back over Harry. “I never want you to go. Didn’t you listen to me before?”

“Sorry,” Harry said. “It’s just ... I’m not good enough for you. And I try to stay away so you can have a normal life, but I’m weak and jealous and I need to be near you.”

Draco lay down and snuggled in, hiding his face in Harry’s neck. “It’s the other way around, Harry. You’re powerful, important. I’m nothing.”

“You’re wrong. You’re everything,” Harry whispered. “Without you, this would all be meaningless.”

Draco closed his eyes and pulled in Harry’s scent. He knew it was true, that it was singular and unique, and that he needed to say it. “I don’t understand you, and I’m sort of afraid of you. But ...” he paused, gathering himself. “Harry, I love you.”

Harry’s arms jerked around him then, holding him tight. “And I’ve tried not to, because I know I can’t have you. Because you have a destiny and I’m just a spectator. But when you’re with me I feel better and I want to help you.”

Harry kissed him repeatedly, and finally said, “I’ve loved you for years. I’ve always needed you close. You were the only one I could see. You are special, and you always have been.”

They were both silent for a while, but Harry was the one to break the silence. “I’m going to try to be better for you.”

Draco shook his head. “Do it for yourself, not me. Just ... don’t hurt anyone anymore. No matter what they do to me. I don’t want to be the reason for anyone getting hurt.”

“I’ll remember that.”

As Draco was falling asleep, he felt Harry move. “Stay with me,” he groaned, fighting off sleep.

Harry kissed his forehead and whispered, “I always do.”

***

Breaking up with Blaise had been easy enough. Blaise had been expecting it for a while, apparently, since Draco had been so reluctant to get physical. He suspected Draco was actually straight and told Draco that maybe he should go with a girl for a while. Blaise said he’d had a few guys think they were gay just because they were attracted to him. “Happens more often than you’d think,” he’d said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Draco was growing away from the Slytherins even more since his split with Blaise. He was spending all his time with Ron and Hermione and had ditched the Slytherin half the class altogether to sit by his friends.

Snape’s glowering was especially intense now that he sat next to Ron in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Ron had a bad habit of talking out of turn. Still, Snape never turned his snark on Draco. He focused singularly on Ron, who, Draco said every time Ron complained about it, really did deserve it.

Draco was even becoming rather fond of Neville Longbottom, of all people. He was unintentionally hilarious and Draco found his hopeless forgetfulness and difficulties with magic rather endearing. Ron and Neville were constantly on what they liked to call “Blaise lookout.” They watched Blaise in class while Draco paid close attention to the lesson.

It seemed Blaise was more affected by being dumped than he had let on to Draco. He was constantly staring Draco’s way, according to Neville and Ron, shooting them dirty glances as if one of them were now sleeping with his ex.

“You know,” Ron said with a mouthful of food at one of their evening spell meetings, “I don’t think he really thinks you’re straight at all. I think he knows you’re gay and just doesn’t want anyone to know that the great Blaise Zabini has been legitimately rejected.”

Draco laughed. “You might be right. I’ve tried hanging around with him since we broke it off, but he’s always so busy talking about all the people he can shag now that we’re no longer an item that we never actually talk anymore.”

“It definitely sounds like he’s trying too hard,” Hermione said. “If only he knew about your secret lover.” Hermione’s face lit up at the notion.

“Merlin, ‘Mione. Will you give the secret lover fantasy a rest?” Ron sighed.

“Oh, Ronald, you know I love you best.”

Ron smiled, even though his ears had turned quite red.

“God, that would drive Blaise nuts. Knowing about H—him, I mean,” Draco stammered, reeling from the fact that he’d almost slipped. “Anyway, I’m knackered. I’m off to bed.”

“All right,” Hermione said. “Take care of yourself.”

“’Night,” Ron yawned. “Think I’m off to bed as well.”

Draco was on his way back to the dormitory to get his toiletries when someone behind him called his name. He turned around and saw Blaise practically staggering towards him.

“Blaise, are you all right?” Draco asked. “You don’t look well.”

“’m fine, Drake,” Blaise slumped against a wall and laughed. “Never better.”

“Have you gotten into the Firewhiskey again? I swear, some day you’re really going to get yourself in trouble.” Draco considered leaving, but decided it was best to lead Blaise back to the common room lest he find real trouble. “Come on,” Draco said, pulling one of Blaise’s arms over his shoulder, wrapping his own arm around Blaise’s back to support him. “Let’s get back.”

Blaise giggled and pushed Draco against the wall, surprisingly strong for a drunk. “Don’t wanna go back,” he slurred. “Wanna stay here with you.” Blaise nuzzled Draco’s neck and began leaving open-mouthed kisses from the collar of his robes up to just behind his ear.

Draco tried to push Blaise away. “No. That’s over with now. We need to get you back to the dormitory and in bed.”

“Wanna bed me, Drake?” Blaise murmured. “Always knew you were just playing the prude.”

“No,” Draco grunted. “You need to go to bed so you can wake up with a miserable hangover in the morning and apologise for your appalling behaviour.”

Blaise was not listening to Draco at all. One of his hands had found its way to Draco’s cock, squeezing it and mumbling, “C’mon. Can’t shag if you can’t get it up. ‘Less you wanna bottom.” Blaise leaned in and kissed Draco’s lips, tongue trying to force its way in. Draco was trying to push Blaise away, but he was just about dead weight leaning on Draco for support.

Draco thought he’d had a superhuman surge of power when Blaise was launched across the corridor, but when he felt himself being yanked down the corridor, he knew that Harry had been the one doing the launching.

Harry pulled Draco through a series of twists and turns in the dungeon, eventually leading him down a stairwell Draco hadn’t known about before. At the bottom of the stairs was an ancient tapestry of the four founders of Hogwarts. Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin eyed each other suspiciously while Rowena Ravenclaw read and Helga Hufflepuff went about trying to start conversations with the others.

When the four founders saw Draco standing there, Hufflepuff spoke up. “Oh, Harry! You’ve brought a friend this time! So good to see you, come on in.”

The tapestry rolled up and revealed a doorway. Harry dragged Draco through it and hurled him into a sofa near the entrance. Draco looked around the spacious quarters, realising that this was where Harry lived. There were a few chairs and sofas strewn about and a few bookcases lining the walls. Through an archway, Draco saw a spell dummy and supposed that that was Harry’s practise room. There was a closed door to the right that Draco guessed led to the toilet. On the far wall was a bed made up in simple grey. On the nightstand was a quaint still photograph of Draco in fourth year, he guessed, based on his hair.

“Enjoying yourself?” Harry asked, looming above him.

Draco tried to stand, to wander around the quarters and see more, but found he was unable to move. “What did you do?” he accused.

“I immobilised you,” Harry stated. “Apparently that’s what I need to do to keep you at my side.”

“What are you talking about?” Draco struggled against the spell, but it was useless. He knew Harry was much stronger than he.

“You,” Harry shouted, “were fooling around with that Slytherin boy again! After all your pretty words on how much you needed me, how you loved me.” Harry turned away from him and muttered, “I’m such a fool.”

“You’re wrong!” Draco yelled. “I never—” but Draco couldn’t speak anymore. Harry had taken his voice, too.

“Stop it. Stop lying to me.” Harry faced Draco again. “Go to sleep.”

***

Draco awoke to a hand gently petting his hair. “Harry,” he mumbled, still half-asleep. He opened his eyes and realised he was no longer in the couch Harry had deposited him on earlier but in Harry’s bed. Draco looked up and saw not Harry touching his hair but rather Hermione.

“Hermione?” he croaked. “What are you doing here?”

“Shh, Draco,” she said. “Blaise came looking for Ron and me this morning, trying to find you. He said he’d passed out in the corridor last night and needed to apologise to you.” Hermione looked over her shoulder and turned back to Draco, speaking again. “No one could find you, so I did that locator spell we’d been working on and it led us to the tapestry of the four founders. I was very excited to have found it, actually.”

Draco chuckled a bit, but let her continue.

“I’d read of it, of course, but assumed it had been lost over the ages. The three of us, Ron, Blaise and I, were trying to get past the tapestry when it just opened. Ron thought he’d figured something out, of course, by telling Godric Gryffindor that he was a Gryffindor, too, and that he should let us in.”

Draco laughed heartily. That sounded like Ron.

“A masked man was standing in the doorway. He invited us in, said he’d been waiting for us.”

“Did you bring me to the bed?” Draco asked.

“No, you were already here. The man took Ron and Blaise into another room and told me to sit with you until you woke up.”

That concerned Draco and he tried to sit up, but found he was still immobilised. “Are they all right?”

“I don’t know, Draco,” Hermione whispered. “I think so, but I haven’t left you since I got here.”

“How long have you been here?”

“A few hours, I’d guess.”

“A few hours? You sat with me this whole time?” Draco knew the answer from the solemn look on her face. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“The man told me to let you sleep,” she hesitated. “Is he your lover, Draco?”

Draco tried to nod, but still couldn’t work his neck. “Yeah.”

“He cares about you a great deal,” she said. “But I think he’s deeply misguided.” Hermione stood. “I was supposed to let him know when you woke up. I’ll be right back.”

Draco lay there for another minute or so, but it felt like ages. He was worried about his friends and especially worried about Blaise. He knew what Harry had seen and he knew Harry would not let him explain. Blaise was in danger and Draco couldn’t do anything about it.

Harry appeared in the archway to the practise area. “Come,” was all he said, and Draco was helpless to resist.

When Draco entered the room, he felt instantly nauseous. Ron and Hermione were sitting on a sofa in the corner behind a potions bench. The steely look on their faces showed that they were both silenced and immobilised, the way Draco had been. Blaise was suspended halfway up one of the walls, seemingly asleep in crucifixion.

“Blaise!” Draco yelled.

“He’s alive,” Harry said. “For now.”

Draco tried to approach Harry but was stopped halfway.

“That’s far enough.”

“Harry,” Draco pleaded. “Let him go. Please. He’s innocent.”

Harry looked up at Blaise and said, “Wake up.”

Blaise stirred, pulling his head upright and looking around. “Draco!” he shouted from his position on the wall.

“Don’t say his name,” Harry spat.

“Let him go,” Blaise pleaded. “Please, don’t hurt him.”

“Hurt him?” Harry asked incredulously. “You think I would hurt him? Anyone else in the world I would gladly eviscerate if only he asked me to. But I could never hurt him.”

Draco’s nausea only intensified. “Harry, please, let them go.”

Harry shrugged and waved his hand at Ron and Hermione, who both stood up, suddenly aware that they could move again. “You may go,” he said.

Ron sat back down and said, “I’d rather stay. I’m not leaving without Draco.”

“Me, neither,” Hermione said and sat down next to Ron.

“Suit yourselves,” Harry said. “But do stay quiet.”

Draco looked at his friends and shook his head. “Please. Don’t stay here. I’ll take care of this.”

Neither of them moved.

Harry crossed his arms behind his back and approached Draco. “I’ve got a proposition for you,” he said. “You’ve told me that you don’t want to be the reason for anyone getting hurt.”

“Yes,” Draco whispered. “Please.”

“I’ve already agreed to let your friends go. They will not be harmed. But you have a choice to make, Draco, regarding him.” Harry shot a pointed glance up at Blaise, who seemed to be struggling to maintain consciousness.

“What do you want me to do?” Draco asked, defeated.

“It’s simple,” Harry said. “He lives if you stay with me. But if you want to live a life unburdened by me. If you want me to stop watching you and to let you go on apart from me, he dies.”

“Harry, why?” Draco pleaded.

“It’s simple, Draco. I know you won’t let him die and I need you,” Harry breathed. “You may have been lying, but I meant every word I said. You’re the only reason I exist, Draco, and without you I would stop.”

“But, Harry—” Draco started.

“And I would let that happen, but I need to save the world. I can’t do that without you and I can’t let you die with everyone else. I’m sorry, but this is the way it has to be. Make your choice.”

“That’s enough, Harry!” bellowed a voice from the doorway. There Dumbledore stood, wand pointed at Harry. “Let the students go before you destroy everything we’ve worked for.”

Harry disarmed Dumbledore and, holding his wand, said, “I’ll hold on to this for you.”

“Harry, let them go. You’ve already revealed enough. If they leave now, we won’t even have to Obliviate them,” Dumbledore explained.

“You don’t want them to know who I am?” Harry asked. “Of course not. That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Whether or not our secret is safe? Well, guess what, Albus,” Harry tore off his mask and tossed it at Dumbledore’s feet, “Our secret’s not safe anymore.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Dumbledore said. “Once people know, Lord Voldemort will return to finish what he’s started. No one will be safe.”

Draco felt the anger bubbling inside him and turned on Dumbledore. “And who are you?” he shouted. “Some sad old man trying to hold on to something that’s beyond him now? You have perverted and manipulated a boy. Taught him that he only exists to kill, and you act surprised when he holds students hostage?”

“Mr Malfoy, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dumbledore said.

Harry waved his hand and silenced Dumbledore. “Let him speak,” he spat.

“You killed my father. You murdered him without explanation, as if you’re above the law. You robbed me of my magic and sat and watched as I suffered. And I don’t even care anymore,” Draco said. “You used a child to further your, what, your political agenda? You bred him like an animal and led him to believe that he was worth nothing more than a mission.”

Draco turned to Harry. “I don’t blame you for what you’ve done, Harry. But I can’t pretend that you’re a saint. You’ve hurt people, including me. And even after promising that you wouldn’t do it again, here we are with two of my friends cowering on a sofa and the other asphyxiating in mid-air.”

“Just say the word, Draco, and I’ll let him go,” Harry insisted.

“Are you really that thick, Harry?” Draco asked. “You’re threatening to murder my friends and I still can’t stop thinking about how badly I need you to hold me. I’ve already promised myself to you. I’ve given you everything, Harry. I love you. How can you doubt that?”

Harry was trembling. “But I saw you!” he shouted. “I saw you and him together.”

“I was drunk!” Blaise shouted. “I was pissed and I saw Draco and I forced myself on him. I came here to apologise to him for my behaviour last night. He doesn’t want me.”

Draco was flooded with gratefulness. Harry looked at him and fell to the ground, crouching in on himself on. “Oh, God,” Harry whimpered, covering his face. Blaise was lowered to the ground and Dumbledore led him from the room after recovering his wand.

Draco sat on the floor next to Harry and wrapped his arms around him. “Shh, Harry. It’s all right.”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “Nothing is. What have I done?” Harry looked up at the room and sobbed, “Please forgive me.”

“They will,” Draco assured him. “In time.”

“No.” Harry looked at Hermione. “I poisoned you. I tried to kill you in the most painful way I could imagine. How could you ever forgive me?”

Hermione sat down beside Harry and reached for his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I’m Hermione Granger.”

Harry shook his head, trembling where he sat. Draco tightened his hold on Harry and whispered, “Harry, I’d like you to meet our friends.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry sobbed. “I’m a murderer. They’re your friends, not mine.”

“You’re wrong,” Draco assured Harry. “You’re not a murderer. You tried and it didn’t work and you feel awful about it now.”

“It’s not enough,” Harry said.

“Maybe not, but it’s a start.” Draco looked at Ron and Hermione, who seemed unsure of what to do. Hermione still held one of Harry’s hands while Ron stood beside her. “But they are your friends, Harry. They want to help you the way I do, to know you and to work alongside you. They know how special you are because I’ve told them.”

“He’s not lying,” Ron said. “We’ve heard so much about you; it seems weird to just be meeting you now.”

Harry nodded his head up and down for a minute and seemed to pull himself together. He shook Hermione’s hand and said, “Happy to meet you, Hermione Granger. I’m Harry Potter.”

Ron gasped, having just figured something out. Hermione said, “You’ll have to forgive my boyfriend Ron. Some things take a bit longer to sink in for him.”

Harry laughed and, with Draco’s help, stood to shake Ron’s hand.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Mr Potter,” Ron stammered. “I’m Ron Weasley.”

“Happy to meet you,” Harry said. “And, please, call me Harry. The less fuss about my destiny, the better.”

“Of course,” Ron agreed.

“Hermione,” Harry started, “I’m so sorry for poisoning you. I hope you can forgive me.”

Hermione stood. “I forgave you before I met you,” Hermione said cheerfully. “So I almost died and spent a few weeks in excruciating pain. To me, it’s been worth it to have made my best friends. As horribly cheesy as it sounds, it’s true. I’d not have really met them otherwise.”

“I can’t explain it,” Ron said suddenly, “but somehow it feels like this is the way things are supposed to be, you know? Like we should have known each other all along.”

“Ron, you’re insane,” Draco said. “But I’m glad for it.”

Just then they heard someone entering the quarters. “Dumbledore,” Harry explained.

Dumbledore ambled into the practise room, somehow looking decades older than he had earlier. “Harry,” he said, and there was no anger left in his voice. “I would like to speak with you.”

Harry nodded and said, “Yeah, all right. But I’m not going to do anything without Draco—without my friends.” Draco saw Hermione squeeze his shoulder in reassurance and Ron took a step towards them.

Dumbledore smiled, an honest smile that gave him youth again. “Yes, I think that will be important.” He focused on Draco, saying, “I would like to explain your father’s death. You were right before. No one held me accountable for murder, except for myself. If there had been any other way, I would have gladly taken the alternative, but Lucius Malfoy had to die.”

“Why did he have to die?” Draco asked. “Why not just send him to Azkaban? I know he was aligned with the Dark Lord, but so are lots of people, and they wind up imprisoned, not dead.”

“Your father’s alignment with Lord Voldemort went further than even he knew,” Dumbledore said. “I’m fairly certain that your father, Draco, was a horcrux.”

Hermione gasped. Draco thought he recognised the word, but couldn’t place it. “A what?” he asked.

“A piece of Voldemort’s soul had been torn out of him and placed inside Lucius Malfoy. There was no way to destroy it without killing Mr Malfoy. Draco, I am sorry for the pain I have caused you and your family.”

Harry’s face hardened. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Pardon an old fool, Harry,” Dumbledore sighed. “I wanted to protect you.”

“Protect me? By hiding vital information from me?” Harry shouted.

Dumbledore Conjured five chairs and sat in one. Ron and Hermione sat as well, but Harry and Draco remained standing.

“I would have told you when you were ready,” Dumbledore said. “But you have been so unstable recently, and your connection with young Mr Malfoy worried me. But I’ve seen the goodness in these children and as much as I don’t want to drag any of you into a war, I think it’s best if you all work together.”

“So, it’s true,” Ron said, mostly to himself, it seemed. “You-Know-Who is coming back. And you,” he looked at Harry, “are the only one who can stop him?”

Harry nodded solemnly. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Dumbledore stood and approached Harry, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “I have made many mistakes in the way I raised you. I was too focused on building your power. Harry,” he implored, “you are not a killer, and your life means more than dealing out death. I am sorry that I never told you this.”

Harry nodded and sat and Draco followed suit. Dumbledore, too, took his seat and said, “I’ll tell you what I know about Lord Voldemort and about his horcruxes. The four of you will need to work together to find and destroy them. This isn’t Harry’s job alone anymore.”

“I’m ready,” Hermione said. “Whatever’s out there, I’ll face it.”

“Me, too,” Ron declared.

Draco wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek, whispering, “I’m with you, wherever you go.”

***

**Epilogue**

Draco Malfoy spent the summer after his sixth year at his family’s home. Number 12 Grimmauld Place had housed half of his family for generations and now it guarded him as well. He was getting to know his second cousin Sirius Black, who happened to be Harry’s godfather and the current proprietor of Grimmauld Place.

Harry was doing much better. His moods were no longer as volatile and he seemed genuinely happy. Draco was proud of Harry’s progress and owed a lot of it to Ron and Hermione, who had come to visit every day. And to Sirius, who had wept when he first saw his godson alive and more or less well.

Draco was happy, too. His mother had recovered from her husband’s death and came to visit Grimmauld Place every now and then. She always talked about how she’d grown up in that house and criticised its upkeep, but Draco could tell she was happy. The House-Elf was in love with his mother and she had a soft spot for him, too. She even seemed to enjoy Sirius’ company, though it took some coaxing to get her used to being around Mudbloods and Blood Traitors, as she called his friends.

“To think that I’m fraternising with the group of children planning to destroy the Dark Lord,” she’d said. “Merlin, Draco, you’ve really done a number on your poor mother. That Mudblood girl really is quite bright, though. I like her.”

When Draco was a small child, his father had told him that he was destined for greatness. Draco guessed he wasn’t achieving it in the way his father might have guessed or hoped, but he was going to earn respect from the wizarding world. He looked to Harry for inspiration instead of the Dark Lord, but he knew that his father would have been proud of him in the end for carrying on the Malfoy legacy of greatness.

Draco was terrified of what was to come. Every day, he, Harry, Ron, and Hermione came closer to finding a horcrux. One by one, they would find and destroy them until finally all that remained was Lord Voldemort himself. They were all nervous, but they knew it was something they had to do together. And together, Draco reflected, was much less scary.

**Author's Note:**

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